


When you're lost never look down

by little_giddy



Category: Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Canon LGBTQ Male Character, Canon Queer Character of Color, M/M, Missing Scene, Spartacus2010 Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_giddy/pseuds/little_giddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Spartacus 2010 kink meme: prompt asked for the last moments before the battle and the aftermath. [Spoilers for 2.10]. I am absent new words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When you're lost never look down

'This time you go,' Nasir tilts his head and reminds Agron of the stillness he can attain when bracing for a blow from without. 

Agron nods and hears the sound of the weeds being lashed together and tested behind them. It calls to mind the sound of a lashing in an arid courtyard a lifetime ago, only this whip will flay the backs of Roman shits and mountains tall. Agron crosses to Nasir as Nasir walks to him. 'And you stay,' he says, a hand to Nasir's cheek and a smile shared. 'Though fuck the gods if we're not facing equal charge this night.'

Nasir puts a hand on the back of Agron's neck and brings his down forehead to meet his. 

'No sharp edge of tongue to parry?' Agron says after a moment, eyes closing and tilting his head to bring the sides of their noses together. He feels no shame or indulgence in taking this pause with Nasir; theirs are not the only words to be broken, if sooner than most. 

'I am absent new words,' Nasir replies, smiling, and Agron can feel a slight tremor in the hand at his neck. He imagines his own must match it. 'Better to go together, or never make a parting here.'

Agron kisses him then, fast and with one hand on Nasir's arm and the other at his jaw. Nasir's hand tightens at his neck and in the material covering his back in unruly strips that give no protection from the wind. 

*

Agron runs through the mess of the battle. The shortest flanking front in the history of all time is long since broken: he's lost sight of Spartacus, Crixus and Gannicus, though he thinks he might have heard the last laughing in the fray somewhere. The smell of wet leaves and leaves wet with blood is more potent than he has encountered since the battles of his homeland: only now the soft dirt coats his legs does he truly disentangle the smell of blood from the feel of sand scraping new wounds. 

He thinks that if the rebellion outlasts the battle, their next strategem should involve lining the Romans up between he and Nasir, or Crixus and Naevia, because to reach the other, they are cutting swathes of red wider than Roman cloaks, but there's always more. And more. And more. 

The sounds in the forest begin to diminish only to swell again at Spartacus's order to press advantage. Agron runs and threads his way through the rebels to the front of the moving pack. He recognises the way to the temple. 

A wordless sound of joy at his left as he moves forward; Nasir grins as the pace of the run whips his hair from his shoulders and back. Agron feels a lightness and headiness that may be accentuated by the fervor of battle but does not find its source there. He runs well enough - Agron hopes the blood on his body is not his as he reaches over to touch his back before they split around a tree in their path. 'We go together. ' 

Nasir grins at him fiercely, a grin stained with drying blood on his neck and flecks under his eyes. When the group comes to a halt at the bottom of the wall, Nasir and Agron watch Spartacus's gestures - they're at the left end of the rough line and too far to hear full voice. Nasir turns to Agron and gestures to the sheer surface he once guarded. 'Aid attempt.'

Agron nods and waits as Nasir finds footholds on his bent knees then shoulders and then, with a final hand to Agron's neck and a sudden jolt, he is gone over the wall, one of the first in the renewed assault. 

As one of the tallest among them, and strongest, Agron forces himself to wait, pushing rebel after brother, sister and kin up and over the wall. Each strike and blow echoes in his mind. It could be the last. It could be Nasir. It could be victory. It could be death, ten feet to his left, but unreachable until he scales the stone with a hastily retrieved rope. 

The gods are good and old words serve again. He finds Nasir in the thick of it and they finish the battle together, surrounded by the dead of their making and listening to Spartacus's rallying cry. Their embrace is a shuddering into place of that which could have been torn asunder, blooded clothes and clattering weapons ignored. Agron puts an arm around Nasir's shoulders as he feels an arm around his own body and Nasir's hand tightening in Agron's rags. Spartacus's toast gains one of their raised arms only - they will not be parted, not for long, not in this life or the next.


End file.
